As the quantum energy of the leap faded, I found myself at the wheel of a very large car... running through a newly-red light. I slowed the car down to a normal speed after I cleared the intersection.

"Hey, you all right, man?" I heard from the seat next to me. I looked over to see a young man with light brown hair and deep brown eyes, looking at me with a critical eye.

"Yeah. Just forgot where I was for a moment," I replied as I returned my eyes to the road.

"You're not tripping are you? You know I hate when you drive while tripping," the man asked, concerned.

"No, no. Just distracted--that's all," I assured him.

Suddenly, a police car pulled me over. "License and registration please." I pulled out the license belonging to my current host and surreptitiously looked at the name on it as I handed it over. The young man sitting beside me then reached over me to hand the cop the registration papers.

As the cop looked over the papers, I realized with a start who I'd leaped into this time.

Micky Dolenz of the Monkees. My favourite Monkee! My favourite band for that matter. And Peter Tork was sitting beside me!! I couldn't believe that I hadn't recognized Peter sooner. I'm probably swiss-cheesed, I thought.

"Well, Mr. Dolenz, are you aware you ran a red light back there?"

"Yes, I am sir. I got a bit distracted for a moment and by the time I noticed the light, I was through it."

"Well, I'm going to let you off this time, on one condition," the cop said.

"What's that?" I put on my best Micky grin, to try and appease the cop.

"Sign an autograph for my daughter. She's a huge Monkees fan, and she'd love to have Micky Dolenz's autograph!"

Peter opened the glove compartment, putting away the registration papers I'd handed back to him and pulling out a glossy 8x10 group photo. He then slid a Sharpie marker out of his pocket. "Better than that, she'll get two Monkees' signatures." He grinned as he signed, "With love, Peter Tork," and drew a flower. He then handed the photo and pen to me.

"What's your daughter's name?" I asked.

"Kelly."

I signed, "To Kelly, Be a good girl, Love and Peace, Micky Dolenz."

Good thing my handwriting is as messy as Micky's or someone would notice that it's a forgery... sorta.

"There ya go," I handed the photo to a now-smiling cop, capped the pen, and handed it back to Peter.

"Thanks. Boy, will my daughter be excited when I tell her I pulled over her favourite Monkee!" He returned to the cop car and sped off.

"Celebrity has its advantages," Peter intoned. I giggled--more at the "guru" tone of voice he used than anything else.

"Sure does. At least it helped prevent a spot on my spotless driving record," I said with a grin.

"Spotless, hah!! Actually, Micky, why don't you let me drive. I know you have such a spotless record, but if you're that distracted, I'd rather drive."

I blew him a raspberry. He got out and walked around to the other side of the car, which I now realized must be one of the Pontiac GTOs that each Monkee had been given, while I slid over to the shotgun seat.

"So, Micky, you ready for filming?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny... no." I tried to keep as deadpan a face as possible, but it was tough. I got the reaction I wanted, though.

"What?!"

"Eyes on the road, Pete," I gently reminded him. I got a punch in the arm for that--because I, and Micky, both know perfectly well that Peter dislikes being called "Pete."

As we drove along, I took a moment to orient myself to my new surroundings. First, though, a quick look in the side-view mirror confirmed that I had lept into Micky Dolenz--early on in the run of the series, as his hair was straight and not too long yet. Looking at Micky's watch, I saw that it was nearly 1 PM. My stomach gurgled, as if in protest, seemingly to say I hadn't eaten yet. I was about to ask Peter to pull through a drive-thru, but he heard and laughed.

"Geez, Mick, hungry already? We just ate a half hour ago!"

That reminded me of a series of fanfic stories I'd read before I started leaping--in which, at breakfast, every morning Micky managed to gobble down a half dozen or so waffles while everyone else had two or three apiece.

"Well, I need a lot of energy to pre-form!" I countered, getting a hearty laugh out of Peter.

"Oh, fine." He pulled up to a drive-thru and ordered a plain cheeseburger and Coke for me. I pulled out Micky's wallet and handed him the money. Then he pulled back on the road as I munched on my burger--which was a delicious, old-fashioned, greasy burger, nice and hot!

After a few minutes, Peter pulled into the Columbia lot. The guard nodded to us with a smile as he let us in. This was a dream come true for me, as before I made my first trip to Los Angeles, Columbia had been relocated. Only Paramount had still been at it's original location. But I think the guys filmed parts of "Monkees Marooned" and "Hitting the High Seas" in Paramount's water tank.

Peter parked near Soundstage C, which had a huge Monkees logo below the "C" sign. I followed him in, wiping the grease off my face and hands as I did. Right away, we ran into Bob Rafelson.

"Oh, good, you're back... not another second lunch Micky?" he moaned. I replied to that with a sheepish grin. "Well, you've still got a few minutes to study your lines."

"Hey Micky--you want to run lines with me?" Peter asked quietly.

"Sure! Now... where did that script of mine run off to?" I started whistling, as if calling a dog, "Here boy! C'mere little script!" Peter rolled his eyes and dragged me off to my, er, Micky's dressing room.

"In there, genius." I stuck my tongue out at him and ran inside to get the script.

Wow, so this is what he described! I thought, taking in the shag carpeting and abundance of pillows that I'd read about in Micky's book I'm A Believer: My Life of Monkees, Music and Madness. I found the script sitting in the middle of the room and grabbed it, then walked back outside to where Peter was waiting.

He walked into the room next to Micky's and I followed him in.

"Uh, try and find an empty spot if you can," he said as he pulled out his script. The room was packed with musical instruments of all kinds so that one could barely move around--just as Micky had described it in his book. I found a drum stool crammed behind a drum kit and sat there, placing my script atop the snare.

"What scene?" I asked.

"Um, how bout we go through scenes 30 through 45," Peter said, scanning the day's shooting schedule.

"Sounds good to me!" I opened the script and flipped until I found scene 30. I quickly looked over the scene--it was from early in the episode, "Monkees Chow Mein," when the Monkees are getting ready for bed.

"I'll do Mike's lines and you do Davy's, okay?"

"Sure," I replied.

~*~

"You know what? I think the inspector was trying to scare us into helping him. I don't think we're in any danger."

"I dunno. You know the movie wax museum we passed on the way home?"

"Yeah?"

"Was Gary Cooper Chinese?"

"No."

"Then we're being followed." I folded my arms and regarded Mike with a skeptical glance.

"Oh come on man, we've done everything we can, it's as secure as it can be. Let's go to bed." Mike headed up the spiral staircase and I followed, silently thanking Peter for his running lines with me--I knew the episode pretty well, being such a huge fan and a Dolenzkateer to boot, but I hadn't seen an episode since I'd started leaping and I also had become slightly swiss-cheesed from leaping. Running through the lines with him had really helped refresh my memory, to the point where I was now relaxed and actually enjoying the opportunity to be Micky for a while. After all, I am a stalwart Dolenzkateer!

I followed Mike into the upstairs bedroom--which, I had discovered, was little more than a small ledge inside the door, and then stood by the door, leaning on the doorjamb. Mike stepped around me and sat down, hanging his long, lanky legs over the edge of the small ledge. I slowly leaned down and poked him in the back, as if I were going to push him over the edge. He swiftly grabbed my wrist in a death grip.

"Don't even think about it Dolenz," he hissed. I just smiled and stood up, listening for my cue.

"Davy, if they kidnap me tonight and kill me, I want you to have my new sport jacket," I heard Peter say.

"Aw, Petah, will you stop that. They're not gonna kill ya, do you understand, nothing's gonna happen to ya. Come on... hey, what color's your new sports jacket?"

"Ohh!"

That was my cue. I stepped out of the door, still clad in black boots, white pajamas, and dark brown robe, and walked downstairs as Mike called after me, "Oh, come on, let's go to bed."

"It's okay Mike, I'm gonna get something for my stomach, a little upset" I replied.

On cue, as I reached the bottom of the stairs, the two men playing the Dragonman's henchmen, "knocked" me over the head with a mallet (in actuality, just a light tap), and I collapsed into one man's arms, and they carried me out the back porch door.

"Cut! Print! Beautiful!" the director, James Frawley, called. "Take five!"

I returned to Micky's dressing room to collapse for a few minutes. Peter popped his head in a moment later, as soon as I'd flopped onto a pile of pillows.

"Hey, Mick--any special requests? I feel like practicing."

"Anything soothing," I mumbled, arm over my eyes. Peter laughed.

"Gotcha. Brahms, not Bach, comin' right up!" He dimmed the lights and closed the door softly. A minute later I heard the strains of a classical-sounding song I didn't recognize coming from the piano next door.

"What a talent!"

"Don't do that!" I jumped.

"Do what?" Al, who had just stepped through the wall, asked.

"Never mind. What have you got?"

"Nothin much. You're Micky Dolenz of the Monkees... "

"I know that. I'm a huge fan, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," he smacked the handlink. "I remember now. Helped a ton when Sam lept into Micky that one time."

"So, anything on why I'm here?"

"Nope. But, this is weird, Ziggy says both Micky and Peter's histories are in flux, like there's another leaper in Peter's place."

"Not right now there isn't... at least when I left Peter a minute ago there wasn't another leaper in his place."

"Just telling you what Ziggy says, so you can be ready."

Just then there was a knock on the door, "Micky--time to be on the set" I heard Peter call.

"Okay. Be right there!" I called back and told Al, "Hurry up and get me some information okay?"

"Will do," he said as he stepped out of the Imaging Chamber door. A moment later, I left Micky's dressing room and headed back toward the set.

~*~

After filming finished for the day, I rode with Peter, whose car was in the shop, to the recording studio. Mike was there ahead of us, and Davy arrived a short time later.

"Okay guys, we're goin' ta record my song 'The Girl I Knew Somewhere' for the next single. Peter, I'd like you to do harpsichord for this if you don't mind--John London's here to do the bass," Mike said.

"Sure thing Michael," Peter replied.

"Okay, good buddy. Micky and Davy--you two know what you're playing."

I nodded and beside me Davy piped up, "Sure Mike! You want tambourine, maracas or both?"

Mike scowled, "Just tambourine. And I'm singin' this one."

We headed into the recording booth and I took my position at the drums. The music had been placed on the music stand but unfortunately, I couldn't read drum notation! However, this was one song I'd taught myself on drums.

Mike grabbed his huge Gretsch 12-string, while Chip picked up the bass and started tuning it. Davy started checking to make sure all of his maracas sounded right and Peter settled down at the harpsichord and warmed up with a short Bach piece. I softly tapped each drum, making sure they were all in tune.

"Ready everyone?" Mike asked. Everyone nodded. "Okay Micky -- count us off."

I took a deep breath and clicked my drumsticks together while counting, "One... two... one, two, three, four!"

~*~

The next morning as I woke up and tried to stay awake, I went over last night's recording session in my mind. Twenty takes--and Chip still said he was going to have to piece my drumming together from several takes to get a decent one! I guess it was okay, since he'd had to do that for Micky on all of Headquarters but it still stank!

Just then I heard the Imaging Chamber door open and Al stepped out.

"Hey there beautiful! What's shakin'?"

"Where have you been?!" I hissed.

"Hey, sorry--Ziggy's been having trouble with the history and keeping track of you. Any sign of more leapers?"

"Not since last night," I replied.

"Well, I still have nothing... but we'll figure it out soon. What's that?" he asked as he saw my breakfast--orange juice and cornflakes.

"Only breakfast in the house," I replied, "Mick hates milk so he has orange juice and cornflakes instead."

"Oh yeah. I remember now. That is so disgusting! Why don't you just go to Dunkin Donuts?" He made a face as I ate.

"One--I actually like this, and two--Peter's car is being fixed and Micky apparently loaned him his--Peter's picking me up in--" I was cut short by a car horn, "a nanosecond." Polishing off the last of my cornflakes I tossed the bowl in the sink and raced out to the car. Al centered in on the backseat but stayed quiet throughout the ride to the studio.

~*~

After we'd changed into costume--robe and pajamas for me, orange striped shirt and red pants for Peter, we ran over the lines for the scene and got started. An aide tied us up for the scene, one of the ones when Peter and Micky are being interrogated by Dragonman, and the cameras rolled.

Halfway through the scene as we simultaneously asked, "What is the Chinese ice torture?" I felt a slight tingling as if I were about to leap... then tied up beside me was Sam Beckett--who had no idea what the next line was!!

"Cut! Peter--you guys just rehearsed this! Don't tell me you forgot your lines already!" Jim cried.

I stood up--we weren't tied down very tight, and pulled Sam up. "Come on Peter, let's go over that again," I said in my best "Micky lecturing Peter" voice and dragged him off to my dressing room--hearing Davy's "Petah Petah Petah," as we walked off the set.

"Who are you?" Sam asked as soon as the door was closed.

"Agnes... Agnes Garreffa. I guess you don't remember the last time we met?"

"No. But that's not saying much. Swiss cheese memory ya know."

"Dig. I'm another leaper--I lept after the project lost track of you."

Al had by now managed to get his mind off a female intern and stepped into the dressing room. "Oh, hi Sam... SAM!"

I grinned at him. "We found our other leaper."

I then remembered why I'd dragged Sam in here in the first place -- and I grabbed my script.

"Here--read fast. We gotta go back and do that scene!" I turned to Al, "Now that our 'other leaper' has showed, does Ziggy have any answers?"

He tapped the handlink and shook his head. "Nada... but I'll go and get somethin'... and make sure our guests are comfortable in the Waiting Room." He opened the Imaging Chamber door and winked at me, "See ya later beautiful!" The door closed.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door, "Come on you two! We gotta get goin again!" Jim called.

"Think you can do the scene?" I asked Sam quietly enough that Jim couldn't hear. He nodded and we headed back to the set.

~*~

Al stepped into the Waiting Room to see Micky and Peter discussing their predicament--as they saw each others' auras.

"Hey man--I'm Micky! This happened to me once before--trust me Pete man, it's me!"

"You're a chick!"

Al grinned and cleared his throat, "I'm afraid he's right Peter. That is Micky and you've both switched places with two of our scientists--Sam Beckett and Agnes Garreffa."

"See!?" Micky gloated.

Peter sighed. "At least it's a break from filming." He sat on the clear table/bed in the center of the room.

"Well, I have to get back to Aggie and Sam. Do either of you need anything?" Al asked.

"Food... I'm starving. Chili perhaps?"

"Just some blank sheet music and a guitar... oh and a veggie sandwich too please."

Al smiled. Micky and his appetite certainly hadn't changed a bit since Sam had lept into him. "No problem. I'll send someone in with those right away." Al left the Waiting Room and headed into the Control Room.

"Gooshie, send Verbena to get chili and a veggie sandwich--and Aggie's guitar and blank sheet music from her room, and bring them to our visitors," he ordered, then looked up at the glowing ball above his head that held most of Ziggy's parts. "Anything new Ziggy?"

"Tina has taken the day off to go shopping in Santa Fe," the neurocomputer responded.

"I mean, so far as the leap goes? Why are they there?" Al snapped.

"Nothing so far. Might I suggest you take a break and go get something to eat. Perhaps I will have some answers for you by the time you return."

Al grumbled, "Fine. But you better have something by the time I'm done eating."

~*~

Meanwhile, back on the set, Sam was having major troubles with the script. Unlike me, a huge Monkees fan who loves to imitate Micky's antics, Sam was not able to let loose and improvise like I can.

We were now working on the opening scene, where Peter gets the fortune cookie. Sam, with all his degrees and IQ points, was having a tough time playing "dumb."

"Yes you can--you brought me here!"

"Cut!! Peter--what is it with you today? You're not acting like yourself," Jim cried. Sam just shrugged. "Well, then, we'll call it a day. Get a good night's sleep--maybe you'll be yourself in the morning."

"I'll drive you home big Peter," I told him, "Go change."

~*~

Al, feeling much better after a hearty meal, returned to the Control Room in a much better mood an hour later. "Anything now?" he asked Ziggy.

"Nothing concrete but there seems to be something wrong wtih David's history. Too bad Agnes is there and not here--she could pinpoint the problem much more quickly than I can," Ziggy replied.

"Thanks a lot. Get started working--you won't be getting any help from Agnes," he snorted and headed for the Imaging Chamber, handlink in hand. He stepped inside and called, "Gooshie! Center me on Aggie and Sam!" Images swirled around him and he found himself in Micky's house and Sam was being given lessons in improvisation by Agnes.

~*~

"Okay Sam," I said, "Now, let's try something very simple." I held up my hand, and pretended I was clutching a ball. "Look, I've got a bright blue ball here. It's got pretty powder blue swirls on it. Now, catch!" I motioned as if tossing the ball to him, and Sam just stood there.

"There is no ball."

"I know that Sam! But the whole point of this exercise is to exercise your imagination. Let's try it again--you must pretend like you're catching and throwing an invisible ball." I held up my hand, 'tossed' the ball a few times, and then tossed it to Sam. This time, he caught it and threw it back to me.

"So how is this going to help me with the show?" he asked.

"Jim played this game with the guys months ago, when the show first started filming. You're starting from the ground up, just like they did."

"Okay. Do we have time for me to learn all of this, though?"

"Crash course. I'll just take you through a few games, and then we'll pull out an old script and play around with it a bit."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Why did I leap in here, if you know this stuff so well?"

I shrugged. "God, Time, Fate, whatever--decided it wanted you here. Who am I to argue with that?"

We played the ball game a little longer, then tried a game called "Freeze," and making up characters on the spot. Then I pulled out an early version of the script for "Monkee See, Monkee Die" that I had accidentally run across when getting ready for bed the other night and fooled around with that. After that I pronounced him ready for filming and shooed him off to bed. Al left the Imaging Chamber and headed to bed.

~*~

The next morning, Al walked down to the Control Room after breakfast to find Tina and Gooshie both inside control panels, mumbling and grunting.

"Hey, what's up gorgeous?" he asked Tina, and leaned down to tickle her ankle.

She slid out, feet first, and regarded Al with a look, "Ziggy blew a few circuits and we're trying to fix it. Go have a cigar or something--the Imaging Chamber is inoperable until we get this fixed."

Al groaned and did as she said, walking outside to smoke a couple cigars.

~*~

I woke up early--very rare, and got dressed quickly, then woke Sam up. I drilled him on lines as we drove to the set. When we reached the set I headed straight for the commisary table and made sure Micky's reputation was not smearched--I gobbled down a bowl of cereal and orange juice plus three muffins and a bagel. Sam just had some fruit.

We headed into makeup and got into our costumes for the first scenes of the day--when we're in the CIS office because of Peter's grabbing of the top secret fortune cookie. I was extremely nervous that Sam would mess up... but I didn't let that hinder my own performance. First we filmed Mike, Davy, and I, er, Micky in the CIS office panicking. Then came Peter's entrance and the two nearly completely improvised bits--the jumping up and down together and the bit after the head CIS man says "they're clean."

Sam walked in and joined the three of us... and he did a good job of jumping up and down with excitement. Then came the bit I was really worried about... and I got so involved in my own improvisation I never noticed how well Sam did! But apparently it was good enough that Jim didn't yell "Cut!"

~*~

After Al had his cigars he went back inside just to find out that they still needed another hour to fix Ziggy. He decided to check up on the pair in the Waiting Room while he waited. He stepped in to hear a song in progress.

"We were born to love one another,
This is something we all need,
We were born to love one another,
We must be what we're going to be,
And what we have to be is free."

As they finished singing, Al clapped. "That was terrific!" he cried. Peter beamed.

"Thank you. We're planning on putting that on the next album--"

"If he ever chooses a title! For pete's sake, he's given me fifteen titles he likes already!" Micky interrupted.

"Hey--'For Pete's Sake'--that's a groovey one. What do you think Al?" Peter asked.

"Sounds good to me. So, how are both of you doing?"

"Fine. I'm getting a lot of work done," Peter replied.

"Peace, quiet, and sleep--I'm getting just what I need!" Micky added.

"Yeah, I guess you could use a break from that relentless schedule, huh?" Al grinned.

"You better believe it!" Micky cried, bouncing up and down on the table/bed where he sat.

Just then the handlink beeped in Al's pocket, and he excused himself, returning to the Control Room and Ziggy. "What's up Ziggy?"

"I have discovered why Dr Beckett and Miss Garreffa are in 1967."

~*~

We got through the next scene, when Dragonman gives Peter and Micky the opportunity to try and find the "door to freedom," with no problems, but as the crew gave us a short break so they could fix the lighting and prepare for the next scene, I heard Davy's distinctive yell coming from offstage.

" 'Elp!!"

Al popped in just then, handlink clutched tightly in one hand. "Aggie--we just found out why you're here--Davy's gonna be kidnapped!"

I glared at him. "Davy just was," and I ran off in the direction of the yell.

Sam noticed and followed me. Al popped out and reappeared in front of me.

"He's gone! The chick who kidnapped him is off in her mobil home with Davy in tow--and Nesmith's unconscious--the chick punched him out!"

Sure enough, as I jogged back towards the set to grab the keys to Micky's car, there was Mike, being revived by Jim Frawley and various crew.

"Be right back Jim. Peter and I think we saw where Davy was being taken," I said and gave him no chance to reply as I headed back to Micky's car where Sam was waiting for me and started after Davy and his kidnapper, following Al's directions.

"There it is!" Al cried as he spotted a mobile home ahead, "Boy, she's gonna make Kathy Bates in Misery look like little orphan Annie!"

I gunned the accelerator, attempting to catch up. "Why? What's she gonna do?"

"Well, she's gonna try and force Davy into marrying her," he read off of the handlink.

"Is she heading for the Justice of the Peace?" Sam asked.

"Sure is. How'd you know?" Al asked,

"Hunch... and I just spotted a sign for the turnoff to the courthouse on the road.

"Was it exit 46A? Cause it looks like she's gettin off there!" I read off the exit ramp sign as I flew by it at 65 mph, following the mobil home.

"Sure was. How're we gonna stop them?" Sam asked.

"By being witnesses," I said as I flew onto a side street to try and take a shortcut to reach the courthouse first.

"WHAT?!" Sam and Al yelled together.

"Trust me!" I cried as I swung Micky's Mercedes into the parking lot of the parking lot of the courthouse and shifted into park almost before the car was stopped. "Come on!" I led the way into the courthouse. Sam followed close behind as I chose a back entrance and snuck into the lobby. Peering around a potted plant, I listened carefully and heard the crazed woman who had Davy in tow assigned to courtroom number two. I led Sam into that room and we sat down, pretending to be regular people pulled off the street to sit in on court cases.

A few minutes later, the woman stepped in, unobtrusively dragging Davy along beside her. I poked Sam and pointed them out.

~*~

After a few cases were heard, the clerk announced the "marriage of Mr. David Thomas Jones and Miss Janis Diana Montgomery." A few gasps were heard--obviously from those who had heard of the Monkees.

I winked at Sam--I had a plan. I figured my plan was foolproof--and I briefly wondered why Sam was here too.

I fidgeted through most of the ceremony, until the judge asked, "If there is anyone here who feels that these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

I jumped up. "I do! She dragged David off the set today, five minutes before he was scheduled to be in a scene."

The woman whirled and pulled a gun on me. The courtroom quickly cleared, except for Sam, myself and a few court personnel. I slowly put up my arms. Sam had ducked down on the floor when I stood and out of the corner of my eye I saw that he was now crawling around on the floor to sneak up behind the crazed woman.

"Look... let's just talk huh? I mean, guns don't solve anything. They're just a coward's way out. Now, why don't you put down the gun and we'll talk this over peaceably... make love not war... " I held one hand up in a peace sign.

"No! Davy's mine! He's never going to get stars in his eyes for another woman!" she cried. Beside her, Davy's eyes widened and he gave her a shocked look which she luckily didn't notice.

"Um, Janis--may I call you Janis? Janis, those stars are fake!"

"No they're not! I saw those stars when he greeted me on the set!"

"Man, this chick is psycho!" Al whistled, "She's been in the psychiatric ward five times already!"

I kept my face as neutral as possible while Sam and two cops snuck up behind her. I never looked away from her, and she never suspected a thing until her hands were being handcuffed behind her back.

"No! He's mine!" she screamed as she was being dragged away. Sam led Davy over to me.

"You okay Dave?" I asked.

"Thanks to you mate! And I thought all you knew how to do was be funny! And thanks to you too Petah," he said, and patted both of us on the back.

Sam just grinned. I leaned my elbow on Davy's shoulder. He elbowed me in the side and said, "Come on. I 'ave to get my clothes out of her trailer." He led the way out of the court, and Sam and I shielded him from prying eyes and cameras as we headed out to get Davy's clothes, then drove back to the studio in Micky's Mercedes. Filming was suspended for the rest of the day, and Sam and I drove back to Micky's house for a drink.

~*~

"So, I guess we'll be leaping soon," Sam mused over his Pepsi.

"Yeah. Thanks for helping me out," I replied, sipping at my orange juice.

Just then the blue light of leaping overtook him and he lept, leaving a very confused Peter in his place.

"Hey Mick ... gee, for some reason I don't remember comin back here for a drink," Peter said, then had a sip of his Pepsi, "and why am I drinking Coke?"

"Not Coke, Pepsi. Never say the C word around me," I said and shuddered, "And you got so stone drunk after we finished up for the day on the set, I brought you back here to sober up."

"Okay... thanks, man. What time is it anyway?"

"Time for bed. You're bunking here, and don't try and convince me otherwise. Tomorrow we're finishing up filming this episode and then goin' back in the studio to work on Mike's song."

~*~

The next morning Peter woke me up nice and early, cheerfully singing "Your Auntie Grizelda" until I woke up and smacked him with my pillow. He was in good spirits, having brushed off his loss of memory as the result of getting drunk. He insisted on driving to the set, claiming he felt stone sober and he wanted to thank me for pulling him out of his predicament.

After filming was completed, we drove to the recording studio where I was ordered into the recording booth by Mike. "Okay Dolenz. They seem to think my voice isn't commercial enough so you are going into that booth and recording the vocals for 'The Girl I Knew Somewhere'--and I want it done in one take!" Mike ordered.

"Sure man, no problem!" I replied and headed in, grabbing the headphones and looking over the lyrics, recementing the sound of the song in my mind.

"You tell me that you've never been this way before,
You tell me things I know that I've heard somewhere,
You're standing in the places,
And you're staring down through faces
That bring to mind traces of a girl,
A girl that I knew somewhere.

I just can't put my finger on what it is,
That says to me watch out don't believe her,
I can't give any reasons, girl,
My thoughts are bound down in a whirl,
I just can't think who in the world
Was that girl, I know I met her somewhere.

Someway, somehow,
The same thing was done,
Someone, somewhere,
Did me the same wrong.

Well, goodbye, dear, I just can't take this chance again,
My fingers are still burning from the last time,
And if your love was not a game,
I only have myself to blame,
That's as may be, I can't explain,
Just ask the girl that I knew somewhere.

And if your love was not a game,
I only have myself to blame,
That's as may be, I can't explain,
Just ask the girl that I knew somewhere."

As the music faded away in the headphones I looked up to the control booth to see Mike's smiling face and I knew I'd completed the take to his satisfaction. He walked into the recording booth and as I took off the headphones he patted me on the shoulder.

"Good job Dolenz!" he cried, and I felt a tingling sensation as I lept.